town. Andreas nodded as he passed the officer assigned to keep all but taxis and official vehicles from mixing with the crowds milling along the old flagstone road down to the harbor. For part of the way, the road ran at tabletop height above and beside a tiny beach used more by pets than people, that ended abruptly at the north wall of the town's oldest hotel. As the road passed the rear of the hotel it began funneling down between buildings until it was only inches wider than Andreas' car. He had no choice but to crawl along at the pace of the crowd in front of him.
Andreas poked Tassos and pointed at two young women just beyond the front bumper. They were walking — more like staggering drunk or drugged — as if the police car didn't exist. Their tight skirts ended where their thighs began, and except for thin halter strings around their necks, their backs were bare, adorned with matching tattoos at the base of their spines. Two local boys walking with them noticed the police car and hurried them into the main square where the road opened up again into the taxi stand. Andreas nodded to the boys as he passed — it made them look important. It was a man thing.
'And they'll wonder why they wake up feeling sore in places they never knew they had,' said Tassos, sounding disgusted.
Both men were quiet for a moment. 'Do you think ours were like them?' asked Andreas. The victims were personal to him. That happened to cops.
'Don't know,' said Tassos, shaking his head. 'Don't think so, but I'm not sure why.' He paused. 'Maybe because there were no signs of rape with any of ours, and' — he gestured over his shoulder back at the women — 'with that sort I'd expect to find some evidence of sexual activity.'
Andreas parked beside a port police SUV, and they joined the crowd packing into the narrow main shopping street of Mykonos. It was still early, not yet eleven, and Matogianni Street was filled with young people trying very hard to look different from one another — so hard, in fact, that they all ended up looking alike. Andreas pointed to a side street, and they moved out of the crowd, heading to a restaurant that was surrounded by bougainvillea and geraniums, filled with white linen-covered tables, and watched over by an owner whose personality gave Greeks a good name.
Andreas didn't go here simply because Niko wouldn't let him pay — no restaurant would take the chief's money — but because he liked the place. Good food, no attitude, and a garden out of sight from the street. There was a lot to talk about and he wanted no interruptions.
They chatted at the bar for a few minutes with Niko and his wife, then Niko led them to a table in the rear of the garden. He left them for a moment and came back holding, in one hand, a plate of mostra — fresh made toasted bread, spread thick with homemade Mykonian kopanisti cheese and covered with olives, fresh tomatoes, and olive oil — and a bottle of wine in the other. He poured each a glass and said he'd already ordered for them. They smiled, thanked him, and watched him leave to greet other guests.
Andreas was in a serious mood. 'Our careers are over if we don't catch this bastard in three days.'
Tassos shrugged. 'Even if we catch him, Athens will be pissed.' He reached for his wineglass but didn't pick it up. 'They'll say we were grabbing the glory for ourselves by not telling them sooner, and if he gets away…' He let his words drift off and a devilish smile formed as he lifted his glass. 'Yamas, Chief Dead Meat.'
Andreas smiled and picked up his glass. 'Yamas.'
They clinked and tasted the wine.
Andreas put down his glass. 'So, why are you risking your pension for just three more days?'
Tassos took a longer sip and put down his glass. He tasted the mostra. 'If we don't catch him now, he'll just fade away. Once this gets out, everyone on Mykonos will be a suspect watched by everyone else. He'd have to leave the island — if he wanted to keep killing — or just stop. Either way, he'd get away.'
Tassos picked up his glass again but just stared at it. 'He'll have murdered all those young women and walked away as if nothing happened. The three days are our last shot. Had to take it.' He extended his glass toward Andreas.
Andreas picked up his and again they clinked.
More food arrived — taramosalata, tzatziki, salata horiatiki, kalamarakia, keftedes, dolmades, barbounia — and they jumped right on it. Neither spoke for a bit. Andreas seemed to have something else on his mind.
'How well did you know my dad?'
Tassos kept on eating and answered as if he'd been expecting the question. 'He was a respected man on the force when I joined. I knew him by reputation more than anything else, though I met him a few times.' He paused to take a sip of wine.
'When was that?'
Tassos stared at him. '1972.'
Andreas nodded. Tassos just admitted to serving the dictatorship, but unlike Andreas' father, he'd survived Greece's return to democracy in 1974.
Andreas smiled. 'I was still in diapers.'
Tassos gave a dismissive wave. 'He was a tough cop in those days, no doubt about it. He did what had to be done to enforce the law. No fakelaki for him. That made him enemies.'
Fakelaki, that simple Greek word for 'little envelope' had a secondary meaning burned into Andreas' memory.
Tassos looked down at the table. 'Do you really want to be hearing this?'
Andreas paused, as if wondering whether he did. 'It wasn't easy for him after 1974.'
Tassos looked up and nodded. 'No, it wasn't. The new regime didn't want him — if you ask me, because he was honest.' He paused. 'Then he hooked up with that bastard-'
Andreas put up his hand to stop him. 'No need to go there.' Andreas remembered the headlines, EX-SECRET POLICE CAPTAIN LEADS MASSIVE BRIBE OPERATION. 'I know all about it,' said Andreas.
Silence.
'My dad,' Andreas said slowly measuring his words, 'loved being a cop. When that… deputy minister gave him the chance a few years later to be one again, he jumped at it.' He let out a breath. 'He had no idea he was being set up. I think that's what devastated him more than anything else — that he didn't see it coming.' He picked up his glass and took a sip of wine.
Tassos spoke softly. 'That deputy minister was a shrewd bastard.'
This time Andreas didn't object. 'Sure was. Getting my father appointed head of his ministry's security detail made Dad loyal as a puppy. Never questioned all those fakelaki pickups and deliveries… that bastard had him make.' Andreas reached for his water glass. 'Told him they were 'top-secret ministry documents.' He'd deliver a demand for a bribe in one envelope and bring back the cash in another. When someone complained to the press about all the bribes involved in getting business from the ministry, he was fingered as the one demanding and getting the payoffs.'
Andreas didn't say any more. No need to. Tassos already knew. Within a week of the story breaking, his father was dead. 'Accident while cleaning gun' was the official finding, but everyone knew that was so he could be buried in consecrated ground. Suicides weren't allowed that rite by the church.
'You do know what happened to him,' said Tassos, 'the deputy minister?'
Andreas looked at him. 'He was killed about a year later in an automobile accident.'
Tassos stared straight into Andreas' eyes. 'It was on a mountain road in northern Greece. A blowout. His car went over the side. He was the only passenger.'
Andreas kept his eyes on Tassos. 'I know.'
'Remember when I said your father made a lot of enemies in his days on the force?'
Andreas nodded.
'He made a lot of friends, too. Friends who weren't happy with the way he was set up by that bastard, that dead bastard.'
Andreas didn't blink. 'Yes, I've heard that, too.'
Tassos looked away, and neither said another word on the subject. They ate in silence for a few moments.
'I think you asked me, 'Where do we go from here?' How about back to the night manager at Ilias' hotel?' said Andreas.
'Why him?' Tassos was enjoying the food.
'He's the one most willing to talk. Maybe he'll remember something.' Andreas reached for the bread. 'Can't
